The Quarantine Station

by Michelle Montebello

  Rose smiled. ‘That’s quite a story. What did your brothers think about that?’

  ‘They hated the idea, thought I’d gone mad. But I’m stubborn. When I set my mind to something there’s no changing it. We’ve all gone our separate ways now. One of my brothers is still here in Sydney and the other three went north to Darwin.’

  ‘So why did you work in the hospital and not somewhere in accommodation? It would have been safer.’

  ‘I studied nursing back home and I helped out a little in the Irish army. I don’t think I really knew what it meant to work here though, but I’ve been here three years and I haven’t succumbed yet. Maybe it’s the luck of the Irish.’

  Rose laughed, finishing her sandwich and dusting crumbs from her hands.

  ‘What about you, Rose? That’s a Londoner’s accent if I ever heard one.’

  ‘I’m from Bethnal Green. I came here to escape an arrangement, if you get my meaning.’

  Dolly made a face. ‘Oh yes, how awful! Was he repulsive?’

  ‘Not repulsive. He just wasn’t for me,’ Rose said. ‘So I boarded a troopship to Australia, mending soldier’s uniforms and helping in the galley in exchange for free passage.’

  ‘You’re brave boarding a troopship. They say it’s the soldiers who are spreading the flu.’

  ‘Brave or perhaps foolish. The latter, I suspect.’

  ‘When my mother died of tuberculosis, I never thought I’d live another day to see an illness of the lungs that horrid. I guess I was wrong.’

  ‘Will they be able to stop it?’

  ‘They’ve built a new inhalation chamber down by the shower blocks. They say three hundred soldiers are on their way here now from the Western Front. They’ll have to have their throats and lungs sterilised in the chamber before they come up to isolation.’

  ‘How do they sterilise throats and lungs?’

  ‘By pumping zinc sulphate into them. The scientists say it’s the cure we’ve all been waiting for. It’ll burn the flu right out of them.’

  Rose bit into her apple and spotted Thomas emerging from the side of the doctors and nurses’ quarters. He was inspecting the sandstone piers, a tool belt wrapped around his waist. He looked up, saw Rose and waved. She waved back and they shared a smile.

  Dolly watched with interest. ‘Are you sweet on him?’

  Rose coloured. She hadn’t meant to be so obvious. ‘He’s just a friend.’

  ‘You know it’s not allowed. If they catch you with him…’

  ‘There’s nothing to catch,’ Rose said quickly, biting into her apple again.

  Dolly nodded slowly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you did fancy him. He’s awfully handsome. All the nurses like him. They think he’s the best looking lad on the station.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Rose said.

  Dolly dusted crumbs off her uniform and stood. ‘We best get back. Lunch break is almost over. Matron doesn’t tolerate tardiness.’

  Rose stood too and tossed the apple core into her lunch bag. She followed Dolly back towards the hospital, passing Thomas on the way. He tipped his hat to them both, but Rose knew his smile was for her.

  Rose was washing her hands in the medicine room when the matron entered.

  ‘Miss Porter.’

  ‘Matron Cromwell.’

  The matron set a log book down on the bench and opened one of the glass cabinets. She began counting the vials inside. ‘Morphine.’

  Rose turned, her wet hands still in the bowl. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Morphine. The doctors and nurses have been known to take a vial or two for their own personal recreation. I count them every day to ensure no sticky fingers have been in the supply cabinet.’

  Rose smiled and went back to scrubbing her hands.

  ‘Be careful there, Miss Porter. That soap is five percent carbolic acid. You’ll scrub the skin right off your bones.’

  ‘I just finished cleaning up the bowels of a rotavirus patient. ’

  ‘Try lavender. It’s good for the skin. You should apply it to your hands after every wash. It will protect them from peeling.’

  Rose dried her hands on a towel and turned to face the matron. ‘Will it repair raw and painful hands, ones that are in scalding water every day?’

  The matron turned. ‘I didn’t realise you were suffering already.’

  ‘It’s not for me. A scullery maid in first-class accommodation has poor hands. The wounds are open and they won’t heal.’

  ‘Sounds like atopic dermatitis. It’s caused by breaks in the skin that become infected.’ Matron Cromwell turned, reached back into the cabinet and retrieved a small bottle, setting it down beside Rose. ‘Try this instead. Tea tree oil. It’s an antiseptic and an anti-inflammatory. It will promote healing. She should apply it three times a day.’

  Rose picked up the small bottle and inspected the liquid inside.

  ‘Keeping her hands out of water won’t hurt either.’

  Rose pocketed the bottle. ‘Thank you, Matron Cromwell.’

  The matron studied her. ‘You have a heart for healing. Did you know that?’

  ‘I’m not sure what that means exactly.’

  ‘It means you care about others. And that’s the first step in a medical profession, aside from some formal training, of course. You have to care. Have you ever thought about becoming a nurse?’

  Rose shrugged. ‘I can’t say that I have.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from the nursing staff, particularly Nurse Dolly. You seem to be a natural.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her.’

  ‘Not kind, just the truth.’ Matron Cromwell closed her log book. ‘How would you feel about staying on for a few more months at the hospital? Don’t feel pressured, but we need good people like you.’

  ‘I’m flattered that you think of me like that.’ Rose smiled. ‘I’d love to.’

  Matron smiled back. ‘Very good, Rose. I shall inform Miss Dalton of it.’

  ‘So you’re going to stay on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘A few more months. Now will you sit still?’

  Rose was perched opposite Bessie on her bed with Bessie’s hands in her lap. She soaked a piece of gauze in tea tree oil and applied it liberally to the infected skin.

  Bessie hissed.

  ‘You have to sit still.’

  ‘It stings!’

  ‘Of course it stings, but it will help. And now that you’re working with the duke and your hands aren’t in water anymore, these sores should heal quickly.’

  ‘Maybe the duke will stop recoiling every time I go near him.’

  ‘He means no offence, I’m sure.’

  ‘He pines for you, you know.’ Bessie turned large eyes up to Rose. ‘He talks about you every day. He’s always asking when you’ll be back.’

  ‘A few more months in the hospital and I will be a distant memory to him, especially with these new hands.’ She winked at Bessie.

  ‘Had you ever considered nursing?’

  ‘No, not ever. I’d always fancied myself as a seamstress, though those roles have been hard to come by with the war on.’ Rose tilted her head. ‘Maybe I’ll be as good at sewing wounds as I am at fabric.’

  ‘That’s ghastly!’ Bessie said, laughing. ‘Well, you must be doing something right. They say Matron Cromwell is a real dragon. She must like you if she’s keeping you on.’

  ‘I’ve yet to see her breathe fire.’ Rose screwed the lid back on the tea tree bottle and balled up the gauze to throw away. ‘She’s certainly strict, but she has to be. She has two hospitals to run in one of the busiest quarantine stations in the country. That’s no small feat.’

  There was a knock at the door and Rose climbed off the bed. ‘Leave your hands to absorb the oil.’ She opened the cottage door and found the young assistant from the post master’s office on the verandah.

  ‘Good evening, ma’am.’ He tipped his hat. ‘Are you Rose Porter?’
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  ‘I am.’

  ‘I have a parcel for you from the post office.’

  ‘For me? I haven’t ordered anything.’ Rose eyed the package in his hand, wrapped in brown paper and bound together by string.

  ‘It has your name on it, ma’am.’ He handed it to her and skipped off the steps before she could question him further.

  Rose closed the door and took the package to her bed.

  Bessie looked up. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A parcel for me, apparently.’

  ‘What kind of parcel?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Well go on, open it.’

  Rose collected a pair of scissors from her sewing kit and cut away the string. Next she tore at the paper until a bundle of books fell into her lap. Diaries. Four of them! Enough to keep her writing for the next year. Her heart soared.

  A small card was affixed to the top of one of them that read simply, To my beloved Rose, keep writing. All my love, TVC.

  ‘What are they?’ Bessie asked, leaning over for a better look.

  Rose quickly slipped the note into one of the diaries and shook her head, feigning foolishness. ‘Books. They’re just books. I placed an order for them months ago and forgot all about it. Silly me!’

  ‘Oh, books.’ Bessie looked disappointed.

  ‘Yes, boring old books.’ Rose wrapped them back up in the paper, tied them together with the string and slid them into her suitcase. Fastening the locks, she hid them away, along with the love she felt brimming inside her.

  She would write, just as he wanted her to. She would pour her heart out to those diaries and tell them of a love so hopeless that it couldn’t be, that it might never be the longer the world existed in turmoil. The longer they remained inside the station, cut off from civilisation, with its structure and rules.

  A love so hopeless it had the power to fill Rose’s heart and break it at the same time.

  Rose grew to enjoy her time at the hospital. It had unexpectedly filled her days with a sense of purpose and achievement, and she found herself bounding up the hill to unhealthy ground well before seven each morning.

  She became a familiar face to the staff and patients and was given a growing list of tasks to complete, not just housekeeping and serving meals, but dressing blisters, administering medications and draining fluid from lungs.

  She was allowed to hold the children when they cried and sing them to sleep in the evenings and, in the absence of a station priest to administer last rites, she held the hands of the dying as they drew their last breath.

  Such was her sense of accomplishment she hardly noticed the time fly by. She had been at the hospital for five weeks when she was collecting urine from a smallpox patient and felt someone touch her arm.

  It was Matron Cromwell. ‘Miss Dalton has asked to see you urgently,’ she said, her expression grim.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Please change out of your uniform and leave it in the laundry bag. You are relieved of your hospital duties.’

  ‘Relieved?’

  Matron Cromwell patted her arm affectionately. ‘It has been a pleasure having you here, Rose. I would have you back in a heartbeat. Thank you for your service.’

  Confused, Rose hurriedly scrubbed her hands down and changed out of her uniform and back into her tunic. She slipped into her own shoes and sprinted all the way back to first class.

  She was panting when she knocked on Miss Dalton’s door and didn’t bother to wait for permission to enter before flinging it open and barging in. ‘What’s going on?’

  Miss Dalton looked up in surprise. ‘Well, do come in, Rose.’

  ‘Why have I been relieved of the hospital?’

  Miss Dalton sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘You better sit down. There’s been a development.’

  Rose sat in the chair, perched on the edge, breathing hard.

  ‘The duke has requested… no, he has demanded, that you return to his service.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Since when did the passengers start dictating where we work?’

  ‘He’s been badgering Bessie about your absence for weeks and when she finally told him you would be gone a few more months, he flew into a rage.’

  ‘But Miss Dalton,’ Rose said, leaning forward. ‘I’m doing well at the hospital. I’m learning new things and I’m good at them! I’m of use there. Please, can’t you reason with him, tell him I’ll just be a little longer?’

  ‘If it were any other passenger, I’d do so, believe me. But this is the duke, the first cousin to the king. And unfortunately, he hasn’t just submitted the complaint to me. It went all the way to the superintendent.’ Miss Dalton’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I know what wonderful work you’ve been doing at the hospital. Matron Cromwell has been filling me in. She wasn’t happy about this reassignment. My ears are still hurting from all the cussing.’

  Rose closed her eyes and watched one more thing she loved slip through her grasp.

  Miss Dalton gave a small smile. ‘As soon as the duke and duchess are on their way, I will reassign you to the hospital. You have my word. But, for now, you will return to first-class accommodation.’

  Rose was devastated. ‘When?’

  ‘Take the rest of the day off. You can start first thing tomorrow.’

  She nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, Miss Dalton.’

  Woodenly, she rose from the chair and headed for the door. It wasn’t until she was back outside in the sunshine that the first tear of frustration broke through her resolve to slide down her cheek.

  Bessie was overly apologetic when Rose arrived at the kitchen the next morning. ‘I’m so sorry, Rose.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I opened my big mouth and ruined everything. You had to leave the hospital and now I’m back here in the kitchen.’

  If Rose wasn’t feeling so glum, she might have offered some words of absolution, but she could only force up a disheartened smile.

  Collecting the duke’s tray of breakfast, she loaded it onto the serving trolley, rolled past the laundry to collect fresh linen, then pushed the trolley up the hill to his cottage.

  The duke greeted her arrival with a look of anticipation on his face. ‘Rose, you’ve returned to me!’ he said, arms outstretched as though she might fall into them.

  ‘Good morning, Your Grace,’ she replied morosely, curtseying.

  He seemed not to notice her lack of enthusiasm. ‘Come on in. I do say you look splendid this morning. It is so nice to have you back!’

  He whistled as he helped her set out the plates and remove the cloches. He poured his own tea while she set out the jam and butter. He sat himself down, shook out his own napkin and placed it in his own lap.

  ‘Ah, everything smells amazing. Better than it has in weeks, I can assure you.’

  Rose remained silent, laying the cutlery.

  ‘How was the hospital work? Bet you’re glad to be back on healthy ground.’ He winked at her and sipped his tea.

  ‘I was rather enjoying it actually.’

  Her meaning was clear, but he brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. ‘Be that as it may, it is much safer for you here in first class.’

  Rose didn’t respond.

  ‘And they can send that bumbling oaf back to the kitchen. Is she not a full quid, that one? She spilt my tea every morning. And those unsavoury hands!’ He gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Turned my stomach every time.’

  ‘Bessie is not a bumbling oaf, Your Grace,’ Rose said firmly. ‘She’s a kind girl who was trying to do her job. There’s no need to be rude.’

  He gave her a double look and fell silent. Rose knew she had overstepped the mark, but she was frustrated with the duke’s mercurial and self-indulgent nature, and she found herself struggling to contain it.

  He was a man used to getting his way and what he wanted was a pretty servant to tend to his every need, irrelevant of the fa
ct that she had become useful in the infirmary where people actually needed her. She was angry and she was taking it out on him even though she knew his patience would only stretch so far.

  She straightened her shoulders and took a composing breath. ‘I apologise, Your Grace. I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, Rose. You are quite right. I should not have spoken ill of the fat girl.’ He grabbed her hand and held fast to it. ‘I’m just glad to have you back. You can’t begin to imagine what the past few weeks have been like for me, not knowing if you’d return.’

  Rose stared at him as he bent his head to rest it against her hand. It was not the way he was holding her that was alarming—though that in itself was a worry—but rather the way he seemed to be unravelling before her. It had only been five weeks since Rose had seen the duke, but here sat a man she hardly recognised.

  The isolation can make people go a little crazy. How true of him as he clung to her hand like a child, caressing it with his cheek, afraid to let her go should she disappear on him a second time. He had been cooped up in the cottage for four months, never venturing further than the porch, cut off from all civilisation save for the parlourmaid who served him his meals and the doctor who tended his wife. And she felt all that pent-up energy fixated on her.

  Rose gently extricated her hand from his. ‘Perhaps after breakfast, you could go for a walk, Your Grace. The smoking room is quite lively this time of morning.’

  His head was still bent, shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘How about the cove?’

  ‘I don’t like sand.’

  Rose raised her eyebrows. It was like reasoning with a child. ‘Well then, you should eat your food before it gets cold.’

  He turned huge blue eyes up to her. ‘Can you butter me some toast please?’

  She reached for a piece from the rack, buttered it, sliced it in half and set it down in front of him. Then she left and retreated quickly to his bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and leant against it, closing her eyes and taking a breath. She wasn’t sure what she’d just witnessed, but it had been altogether strange.